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Because this is the official last week of summer vacation, I'll be on the road until I get back from Indiana on Thursday. I'm home on a pit-stop today to check the mail and scoop out the litter box. From Sunday to today I was down at Mom's. Yesterday morning I found myself deep in the arms of her front garden. It was time to clear out the dead stuff. This garden is really just a single bed out front, a roundish plot, former home to a gargantuan evergreen that outlived 'useful' and 'cute' about four years ago; so my brother-in-law chopped it out. Underneath lay this very light, mulchy soil from generations of decayed pine needles. The bed is anchored in the back by a curving row of big yellow daylillies. Off to one side there's a clump of coneflower (mostly purple, one white) and some summery splotches of gloriosa daisy (like black-eyed susan). Off to the other side there are some spring-like cosmos just popping up. Down front stands the dry corpse of something Mom says had purple flowers. (I suspect it's the lone survivor of a few bee-balms I planted a year or so ago.) That's the garden; except for its most prominent tenant, white yarrow. I never planted white yarrow. Years ago I planted some yellow and red, which seem to have vanished. This white stuff must have come in through our attempt at wildflowers. The seed we used must have had some, and it has redefined our sense of what an 'invasive' plant can do. In bloom this stuff has a delicate, fern-ish leaf. The flower shoots up at the end of a long stalk, and in its prime is kind of pretty, but enough is enough. Yesterday I was ripping it out by the handfuls, never fearing that there wouldn't be enough for next year. (This critter has the tenacity of kudzu.) At one point good neighbor Albert came over to say hi. While he was chatting with Mom, some bee or nasty fly started diving at me. I started waving it away, then I started running. Then it got onto Albert and he took off for home. Well, that was yesterday. I go on about the garden because I haven't had enough of gardens for awhile. Some part of me is a gardener; I've had to accept that. But I haven't lately found myself in situations conducive to gardening. I never used to think about gardens until I was bushwhacked by Rafael Aguon some years ago. When we lived back on Broadway, Rafe had inherited the yard from Bob Colaresi and got me to help out here and there. Once we took a trip to the Chicago Botanical Society Gardens and he showed me a few things. When he moved on, I thought I'd just do some minimal planting to keep up appearances, but it got out of hand. I guess, if you've got gardening in you somewhere, it will always get out of hand. I started learning the names of plants and studying what a difference a zone makes. I started watching intently all of those formerly boring garden shows on PBS and HGTV. I lurked at Franks, Home Depot, and Target/Wal-/K-Mart's plant aisles. I'd visit people and notice their external and internal flora before anything else. On interstate drives I would battle the urge to pull over and stare goop-eyed at an especially nice roadside effect. I've had it bad. But, as noted, conditions haven't been right lately. I think more people should give it a try. There's said to be a certain spiritual side to it all, but I wouldn't know about that. I just like them flowers. |
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Freya Stark |